


Sketch

by Tarlan



Category: Blood Ties (TV)
Genre: Collection: Fandom Stocking 2014, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3069848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry awoke aware that he was not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketch

When the sun rose Henry felt a prickle in his skin, a warning to find safety immediately before he became as still as death itself, body frozen and his mind almost numb. Sometimes he dreamed but it was usually while his brain was shutting down for the day and waking up at sunset. He was vulnerable while he slept and dangerous in the twilight state of waking. It was why he had invited only three people into his inner sanctum during the hours of daylight in all the four hundred and seventy-two years he had existed as a vampire.

Three people he trusted with his life, and he trusted himself with theirs.

The man sprawled asleep on the couch beside the blacked-out window was not one of those three.

The white hot flash of anger flared without a visible spark when he realized it wasn't anger but fear coursing through his body, but not fear for himself. He could have easily lashed out at the intruder while in his twilight state. He could have killed him, and the thought of waking fully with this man's body a drained corpse at his feet was horrifying.

Henry took several supernaturally fast steps towards the man, outstretched hand freezing just before alighting on the man's shoulder.

Detective Celluci looked exhausted even in sleep, but the last few days had taken their toll on all of them both physically and emotionally.

His familiar trench coat was missing, as was his suit jacket. His tie - a particularly bland striped affair - was loosened and the top two buttons of his dark dress shirt undone to reveal a triangle of soft, pale flesh. His hair was in disarray, the blond strands glinting almost orange in the low light radiating out from only lamp.

He was beautiful in a classic, square-faced sense. Every inch the broad shouldered, strong, and masculine warrior form that Henry's father had favored in a man, making his disappointment in his slender, more fragile, illegitimate son all the more noticeable. Henry smiled. Perhaps he and his father had some common ground after all, though his father had preferred the sexual attentions of women - many women - in his quest for that perfect son and heir. It seemed poetic justice that Henry's half-sisters would take the throne instead.

Backing off, Henry decided to let Celluci sleep. They both deserved this respite, especially as Henry would be gone from Toronto before the next dawn.

Silently he pulled his sketch pad and a pencil from the bedside drawer, raised the level of lighting a fraction more, and began to draw the sleeping man, smoothing away the lines of exhaustion from the slightly furrowed brow. It gave him a legitimate reason to stare at the man one last time, to capture his face and form in his mind and mentally strip away the layers of clothing to the well-toned body beneath. With an artist's eye he roamed over the strong chest, firm ass and long legs, finishing the first sketch and hiding it away for his personal pleasure before starting on another.

The second sketch exaggerated a few muscles, adding fantasy armor over the unintentionally posed body. He would immortalize Celluci in his work, and this time he might even let his character be the hero and live. He didn't stop when he saw the first flickers of movement as Celluci began to stir, smiling secretly at the sleep-fuddled confusion in the blue eyes that fell upon him.

"What are you doing?"

Henry raised one eyebrow. "If you are going to invite yourself into my inner sanctum and use it as a motel room, then I should take payment in kind."

Celluci sat up, shoving his hands through his sleep-tousled hair; Henry quickly discarded one sketch in favor of another in the new pose.

"Why are you here, Detective?"

"God knows I'm asking myself the same question," he mumbled, and Henry smiled openly, seeing the flicker of annoyance cross Celluci's face.

He had a suspicion the annoyance was aimed more at himself than at Henry, as if he had failed in his duty or courage. Perhaps he had meant to keep watch over and protect Henry while he slept like the dead - literally - but he was also waiting for Henry to awaken so he could speak with him. Perhaps he planned to offer condolences to the loser, knowing Vicki had chosen to spend her mortal life with him over Henry.

Strangely, once the sting of rejection had passed, all Henry had felt was relief and an unaccountable joy that Celluci would not spend the remainder of his mortal years alone. He would miss Vicki, but he realized he would miss the spark and friction with Celluci more. Some how the detective had wormed his way into Henry's heart.

Henry put aside the sketch and moved slowly across the room, still managing to startle Celluci despite his intentionally human pace.

Before Celluci could question him, Henry moved fast, pushing Celluci back onto the couch and straddling him, hands restraining Celluci's at the wrist. He expected Celluci to buck up against him, to try to throw him off, and curse when his human strength failed against even a slender vampire like Henry, but was taken aback when Celluci remained still. Henry could feel the heat rising in Celluci's face and the blown pupils gave away the rest, leaving Henry's own emotions spiraling. Was he so wrong in believing Celluci wanted Vicki? He tested his theory by rocking himself into Celluci and saw desire raging against confusion and fear.

Gently, Henry lowered himself, giving Celluci - giving Mike - plenty of time to turn away before feeling the press of lips together. He pushed down on the urge to engage in teasing banter, opting for silence punctuated by soft moans, kisses and the susurration of skin sliding against skin as they came together. It was messy and awkward... and perfect. Henry pulled back to gaze into sated blue eyes.

"Mike?" A question asked and answered with a soft almost deprecating smile. "Have you ever thought of moving to Vancouver?" He smiled at the hope dawning. "With me."

END  
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